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by rebelgandhi
Summary: One-shot. RP drabble. TRIGGER WARNING: Eating Disorders. Slight Dolph Ziggler x Chris Jericho mention.


A heavy sigh escaping into the room, Nick reached a hand out to turn off the flow of water streaming from the shower-head to run over the tensed muscles of his remarkably sore frame. Even showers didn't seem to work in relieving the pain lately. A constant state of this aching was consuming him all the time as of late. It didn't matter how much time he spent in the gym or working out in the hotel rooms to try and rid his body of tensions that the stress tightened it into. He would then just be too sore from the exhaustion crawling in to replace the tension of his frame. And if he didn't allow himself to work out in such a way and just sat to 'relax'? Then his muscles would ache from lack of movement and from the unrelieved stress. There was no happy medium. There was no in between. All there was, was this relentless pain reminding him that he couldn't help himself. Or seemingly anything or anyone else with the amount of aching that was drenching his heart also. Chris was in constant pain both physically and emotionally and there was nothing that would work to help him, no matter how hard Nick would try. No matter how much he would dedicate all of his spare energy towards his husband to love and care for him in every way he could possibly think of, the older man would still hurt so obviously that it continued to drench the Show-Off's heart in feelings of worthlessness. Feelings that were extending to the fact that he felt he couldn't help his friends any longer. Not that the people he could call his friends particularly even came to him for help anymore; though he couldn't blame them. They probably saw themselves how much of a failure he was when it came to pretty much anything - problems with work, relationships, illness' and personal demons plaguing him on a constant along with the aches of his frame. He just couldn't escape the stress and exhaustion riddling him and provoking the ill thoughts and feelings within him. Standing straight in order to emerge from the shower walls - Nick felt and heard the loud popping of his spine cracking into place, a dull pain running from his tailbone to his shoulder-blades before a slight roll of his head to the side sent a violent, stabbing pain to pinch in his neck and run down his injured arm. A heavy ache overcoming the entire side of his torso to accompany the various streams of pain slicing into random points along his limb. Feeling the prickling sensation in his fingers fighting numbness, the young wrestler clenched a fist and - without thinking - shot his arm out to punch into the unforgiving tile wall five times in quick succession in an attempt to both stop the numbing of his muscles and to punish himself for the tears pricking to his eyes. The Show-Off was growing tired of not being able to perform simple actions for the injuries riddling his broken frame. A frustrated hiss breaking the silence of the small hotel bathroom, Nick looked towards his knuckles to notice their now red state, blood seeping from his his first and second knuckle slightly. Wiping his face with opposing hand, Nick stepped from the confinement of the shower to the slightly cooler room - skin feeling as if it was coiling away at the breeze. Taking a hold of his towel with a sigh, he buried his face into the soft material.

Wiping the water from his face lazily before mussing his hair with the towel in attempt to dry it some, Nick approached the sink of the bathroom. Looking up slightly, he caught his reflection in the large mirror present on the wall and all action stopped; his arm dropping from drying his hair to down by his side, towel falling to the floor. _Is that really what I look like? _A familiar, disgusted and worried tone spoke into his mind. Leaning forward over the porcelain basin in front of him in order to get closer to the mirror and study his features closer , his body almost found itself coiling back - knowing what was about to come, but his will hadn't been strong enough. Bringing a hand up to brush delicately against the telling bags residing on the skin directly beneath his eyes, Nick was slightly shocked at how ill he looked. It was true that he hadn't been feeling well at all, but he hadn't known it was playing so much on his face. Gaze shifting steadily to study every aspect of the face reflected back at him; the self-destructive demons of his mind roared to life, taunting him. Demons that he had only just started to squash, biting back at his efforts. Hand continuing to trace over his features, the things in mind would tell him of his every flaw. His jaw was too wide, too strong, it made his entire head look boxy. His features were too small; his mouth never seemed to fit his face, regardless of what expression he would pull. His eyes were too squinted, especially when laughed. He hated the way he looked when he laughed. The color of his eyes were too cold; the blue was too icy and too unforgiving. How could anyone find comfort in the weak and rejecting stare that was meeting him now on reflective glass? His forehead was too wrinkled and his nose was too wide, his ears too small and his hair constantly looked dirty. His hair. Running digits through it now, tugging on the ends - frizzy now from the way he had dried his hair. To him, it looked disgusting when his locks would look like this, or really whatever state they were in at all. Nick couldn't understand how so many people had such positive things to say about his hair; or how they could have anything positive to say about him at all.

Stepping back away from the mirror slightly, so his torso was now reflected against the glass as well as his face. Hand instantly guiding itself to run fingers lightly over the markings present on his rib-cage - markings evident from love making with Chris. Markings that made a small smile creep onto his face at memories and the image of his husband springing to his mind, chasing the bad voices away for a moment. Turning his body to be side-on with the mirror in attempt to look at the marks better, possibly even capture a glimpse of the more intense ones laced onto the skin of his back. Instead though, Nick found himself simply staring at the profile of his body. All logical thought escaped him when he would look this way into a mirror; a nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him it was just the eating disorder taking over his thoughts, but that nagging was quickly squashed under the weight of the thoughts telling him how disgusting he was. Running his hand up his side, he felt over the indentations of his rib-cage present just below his skin. You could typically always see his ribs protruding. Two, opposing thoughts slithered around to front of his mind - one telling him that it was disgusting and unnatural to be able to see that and one telling him that he couldn't see them well enough. A warped sense of thinking made him pinch at his waist desperately - thoughts telling him that it wasn't thin enough. To any straight-thinking person looking at Nick right now - all that would be seen would be a perfectly fit and physically healthy man feeling down the front of his torso tightly. To Nick though, he was feeling down a war-zone of insecurities. Nick saw someone who wasn't at all in shape; someone with a vastly unattractive appearance that was seemingly never going to be fixed. Turning to face the mirror head on, fingers still feeling over the indentations of his abs; Nick told himself that the indentations weren't prominent enough. Pinching and pulling at tight skin and non-existent fat, the Show-Off's mind told him that fat did exist and that it was evident to any that looked at him. His stomach wasn't as toned as it used to be. His pecs and hip-dents weren't what they used to be and he detested that fact. It made a vile taste rise to the back of his throat and a panicked feeling drop into his stomach. Palm travelling up to grope harshly at his 'too small' pectoral muscles, Nick couldn't help himself but to think that his body and all the things he was studying now used to be desirable and an object that female fans worldwide used to last after. Now? Now it was simply nothing special at all. Hand and reflected eyes travelling over not-broad-enough shoulder to feel down not-big-enough biceps, awkward elbows and too veiny forearms to grip onto the too small and numbing hand of his bad arm. His hands were too veiny also, his fingers were too thin and too short and the blood risen on to broken skin of knuckles stung.

Stepping back again to be able to see more of his body in the mirror - icy gaze fell over the tattoo present on the pale white skin of his hips. Another mark of Chris - a permanent one. A mark that made him smile inked in between scars that instantly made him feel the sickness crawl up his throat. Fingernail digging harshly into scar and running along - it didn't break the skin, but it did make it sting violently. Insecurities about his life and mind washed in to mesh with the self-destructive thoughts already plaguing him. Tracing the words of his tattoo gently now with his digits, his hand found itself rested in the center of his pelvis for a moment. A disgusted grimace overcoming his face, his hand shifted downwards to cover over another part of him he deemed to small, and even too veiny itself when it was in it's other state. A tool intended to bring pleasure to himself and his partner - pleasure that he wasn't entirely sure he had ever been able to bring well enough. Inadequacies and insecurities about his sexual prowess riddled him, forcing his eyes to tear aggressively from the mirror to hang his head - lids closed tightly. Pushing and pulling at his thoughts, he attempted to force his body to walk away from the mirror and into the arms of the man in the other room that would always love the things about him that he deemed so unworthy and foul. But his demons had control now and his mind forced his cold, tear-filled eyes open to gaze at the entirety of his reflection, thoughts grabbing on every flaw he saw once again. Eyes settling to stare at the reflection of his hand spread to wrap around wide thigh, nails digging into the muscle there that, in their not tensed state, gave way in a manner that felt similar to fat. Fat. Imperfect. Disgusting. His thoughts not reaching and further than that as Nick's frame scrambled across the bathroom and dropped to his knees, hands clutching at cool porcelain only moments before his frame was convulsing and expelling everything from his stomach into the toilet bowl. A vile taste staining his mouth and throat before falling onto his ass next to the utility. Rolling his head back against the bathroom wall, his thoughts berating him for everything he had thought and felt and the state they had driven him to. The berating didn't last long though, as Nick looked down at himself and all the thoughts and insecurities rushed back to him. The hot tears running down his face transformed into violent sobs racketing his body. He was completely back at square one.


End file.
